So Went The Dream
by mebh
Summary: What might have happened in the wake of The Promised Day, between Riza and Roy as they lie in their own personal kinds of darkness.  Royai.  Challenge - join in if you fancy it!


**Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.**

Part of a challenge conceived by Thousandsunnylyon, Megami Ze, Disastergirl and myself. Anyone else who fancies a crack at it, please join in! Nothing too competitive, just a shower of eejits like us who love writing :) 500-1000 words (I've gone over... with A/Ns though!). It should focus on what happens in the short time Roy loses his sight.

An imagining of what could happen the first night Riza and Roy are left alone after the promised day (closer then to Brotherhood than the manga I reckon. Roy is yet to have his sight restored by the philosophers stone...)

Setting a personal challenge of writing this before docking in Scotland... game on!

* * *

They were lucky: the room was secure and no light fouled the inky black of night. It had just gone midnight and the world was dreaming.

There was a special kind of quiet, particular to hospitals, Riza thought. In the corner, a tap dripped lazily – a muted murmur, the occasional gurgle. While outside electric lights long in need of replacing buzzed sharply. Slippers flip-flopped further down the corridor and every now and then, there was the birdlike bleep of some unseen piece of hospital equipment – perhaps even an alarm, battery needing changed.

Then there was _that_ noise. More than a noise: an assurance.

One breath in the gloom behind her was followed by another. She could tell, by instinct – not a thought, that they were coming from the belly; deep, drawing inhales curbed by nothing. He was sleeping, soundly. Her Colonel.

When they were first installed in their room, with dust still settling in the city around them, they'd sat a while in silence. Not speaking, not smiling – neither of them daring to. A few sheepish looks were exchanged; coy eyes darting. She started once when he thrust his aching hands into his armpits and failed to cover his wince, and he'd yelled 'doctor!' when she had a pale spell in the afternoon. Cautious still. But then, that was them, wasn't it?

Before, when he left her father's tutelage, she used to dream – often – of them walking together, she always a little way behind. The scene was familiar: the cracked bogland by her old house, full of black mud and tall, rough grasses. 'Dog daisies' waved and crows dotted the trees in the distance, a crowd of stark 'full stops'. The butterflies were out, drifting above the steaming turf like snowflakes. It was always high summer. Always.

He would stop suddenly and turn, smiling at something over her shoulder. She was dazzled, even in sleeping, and it would take her a few embarrassed seconds to peel her eyes away long enough to follow his gaze.

Nothing. Just more grass and more blue sky. When she turned back to follow him again, he was gone. Vanished.

So went the dream.

Riza swallowed and listened for his next breath. _See_, she thought, _he's still there_. _ He hasn't __vanished._

How close they came. How fiercely danger had pressed itself upon them; a jealous lover, a hungry, goading beast. She touched shaking fingers to her neck then shivered when the pulse throbbed beneath the newly marbled skin there. His eyes: twin dark stars that missed nothing and saw the drifting ember of hope in the wake of war. Robbed.

_For now_, she told herself. _Only for now._

His hands. _No need to worry_, the doctors had said, _they'll function just fine_. But 'just fine' wasn't good enough, not for him.

_He'll cope_, she counselled. _We will, together._

They survived – impossibly – they lived. Everything would be okay. The shadows had been swept away and now the real work could begin, in the open; no monsters leering. Everything was okay. He was okay, and she was okay.

It was shocking. She was crying. _Don't be silly_, she told herself, _because now, everything is okay_.

She couldn't stop it though, and soon her face was pressed far into the pillow to smother her sobs. She grabbed at it, strong fingers puckering the material, and bit into it when her back arched and released with shuddering, barely muted cry.

"Fuck," came a curse in the darkness. Then, sputtered together with a clatter: "Shit."

"Sir?" Riza asked, voice thick with upset. How dreadful. "What are you... why are you up?"

"Just...," A dull thunk, "One moment."

Riza turned towards the noise just as a hand brushed her ankle.

"Sir!" Riza whispered harshly. A second hand found her calf.

"Please," Roy chastised. "I'm trying to comfort you, Lieutenant."

Rolling her eyes, Riza sat forward and grabbed for him. After a couple of swipes, with both of them now muttering, she found his wrist and held tight.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," she scolded. "You could hurt yourself! Here: I'll help you back."

"I'm fine," said Roy, and she could tell that his face was a picture of childish petulance.

"Your eyes, Colonel. Please, you'll hurt yourself. Sir – you can't see where you're going."

There was a silence, and his arm relaxed in her grasp. Then he pried his hand away, hospital gown whispering as he moved.

"Can you see this?" he asked.

She saw nothing. Only darkness. Perhaps a silhouette if she strained.

"Is it a rude gesture, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Then I can't."

"Then we're even. Now move over."

She laughed as another tear spilled down her cheek. Her nose was blocked and her pillow damp from crying. Fantastic.

Nonetheless, she threw the covers back and scooted over. She schooled her voice to a deadpan, reluctant drawl.

"You'll have to shift back to your own bed before morning."

Another curse heralded her Colonel's arrival beside her. She almost toppled over the edge of the bed trying to accommodate him.

"No way," said Roy. He ran a clumsily hand up her side until it rested on her back. She could feel the thickness of his bandages through her gown. Even in the pitch black, she knew he was smiling when he next spoke: cheeky and wonderful. "It's nothing new to us, Hawkeye."

"No, I suppose not, Sir. The staff might get a bit of a shock though."

"I'll blame it on the morphine." He shifted closer, then tutted. "Come here." She lifted herself, allowing his other arm to slip under her, then pull her closer.

"You – oh!" his arm brushed her breast. He hummed innocently, still adjusting himself. "You aren't on morphine."

"Then I'll blame it on the pain."

Riza smiled, then smiled bigger when he sighed, his hot breath racing across her tender neck.

"Please don't say that," she groaned.

He seemed about to speak, then quieted himself. That same hospital silence returned.

She jumped as warm lips pressed against her damp cheek. Then he spoke. He was so, so close now.

"Still crying?" he asked.

She couldn't answer. She _was_ crying – all anew and harder now.

He hugged her closer with his arms, useless hands dangling behind her back.

"Like a pair of broken dolls," he said sadly. She sobbed and nodded against him.

"So close... everything..."

"Don't worry," he whispered against her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

She dreamt of him again that night as they lay together. But now, she was walking next to him, both of them smiling. It was still high summer.

* * *

Just docking! Yahoo!

(I'm sure there's a fair amount of typos... sorry!)

Thanks for reading :)


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